


The Winter of the Forsaken

by RavenAurelieChoiseau



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Anal Sex, Arousal, Attraction, Bathing/Washing, Battle, Binding Breasts, Bisexual Robb Stark, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Blowjobs, Breeding, Calling to the King's tent, Canon Related, Canon as far as it needs to be for the story, Canon-Typical Violence, Come Swallowing, Comeplay, Discovery, Disguise, Drinking, Drinking & Talking, F/M, Fear of Discovery, Gender Disguise, Gentle Kissing, Gentle Sex, Healers, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Kissing, Large Breasts, Licking, M/M, Maesters, Mystery, Nipple Licking, No detail on the rape/non-con referenced, Oral Sex, Other, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Sexism, Post-Battle, Protective Robb Stark, References to Canon, Resolved Sexual Tension, Robb Stark is King in the North, Robb Stark is woke af, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Saving a Life, Saving the King's life, Secret Identity, Secret Identity Fail, Secrets, Self-Discovery, Sexual Tension, Stripping, Swords, Touch-Starved, Touching, direwolves, non-binary original character - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:26:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24997564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenAurelieChoiseau/pseuds/RavenAurelieChoiseau
Summary: He felt a kinship with her, an understanding of the anguish and passion that drove her to war. The Lannisters had made dreadful holes in the fabrics of both their families and their absences gnawed in his chest… both of them possessed that glint that only utter hurt and longing could have dragged to the surface.‘The world is a cruel place Your Grace, I have long-since learned to listen to everything, but let nothing touch me.’The crackle of the fire and the direwolf’s snoring competed with their increasing breaths. The sexual tension was palpable now, their scents meshing in the air, making nostrils twitch.‘Perhaps you shall teach me your ways, Alara,’ he whispered, tilting his head. Stray curls fell into his eyes. She wanted desperately to brush them away._A soldier in Robb's army harbors many secrets. They all come to light when Gregory Farrow saves the King's life and is invited to Robb's tent. He reveals himself to be someone quite unexpected.
Relationships: Robb Stark/Jon Snow mentioned, Robb Stark/Original Character(s), Robb Stark/Original Non- Binary Character, Robb Stark/Theon Greyjoy mentioned
Comments: 16
Kudos: 80





	The Winter of the Forsaken

**Author's Note:**

> Second GoT fic, hope you enjoy it! Touches upon themes of sexuality and shifting sexual/gender identity.  
> There is a reference to a rape/non-con, no detail. Literally says "They had their way with her," so I don't think it warranted an archive warning, but I wanted to warn ahead of time.  
> There are also scenes of battle-specific violence described at the beginning as it opens with a... you guessed it... battle. That's in the warnings. Nothing like "vomit-detailed" unless you're squeamish in general.  
> I've chosen to keep Alara's pronouns both she/he as the characters would have identified her from outward appearance, and not as they identify themselves, just to be clear that it was in no way meant to be offensive as I just found it more canon-specific to the time and setting. Alara/Gregory as the tags go is still in a place of self-discovery.

The minstrels only sang heroic songs of battle, where war was a glorious thing in which only great and brave men partook, to protect family and kingdom and principle. Their tales told nothing of the horror and fear felt as warriors clashed swords and sliced into soft flesh and hard bone without second thought. (Loosed bowels and emptied entrails held nothing poetic, nor did splattered blood and tears that ran rivulets into parched mouth).

Alara Farrow spat crimson, and with all her might, swung her long sword into the gut-spattered breastplate of the soldier donning it. The golden lion glinted even through the mud and gore. Lannister armor, she thought, as her pert mouth curved in disgust. Icy steel cut through the metal like butter and sheared through skin to sink straight into his pumping heart. The man’s scream had barely left his throat before he expired.  
Alara grunted and with her long leg, pushed the soldier off to loosen her blade from his now lifeless body.

The laments of frightened horses and metal kissing metal rang against her ears like a dreadful requiem. It had been months, and yet she would never grow accustomed to it. Her blood sang with the heady rush of battle, flooding her muscles with even more strength.  
Alara truly felt invincible, though she was not. Not at all.  
  
Leaping over the corpse and sliding beneath a rampaging destrier, she missed its deadly hooves by only half a meter. Her face tight, skin stretched into a snarl, she plunged through the soldiers like a tempest, cutting down enemies left and right. They looked sinister in their helm-covered and blood-splattered casings. Still, under the waning light, her thirst for revenge bid her forward.

‘Lannister pigs! Lannisters!’ some soldiers from her banner were shouting at the top of their lungs, if only to spur them onward as her side overwhelmed them. Perhaps the name itself struck fear into the hearts of the soldiers who were sworn to it, promising death or suffering to those who came back in shamed defeat.  
It meant little to Alara, for wherever she saw the gold and red armor, she saw the _messenger and the soldiers_ who came to her father’s smithy that day with deceitful eyes and murderous intent.

She would tear the Lannisters down one way or another. It was only a matter of time and opportunity.  
  
###

Alara winced as metal sang by her face and a thin line of blood welled up on her cheek. Growling, she spun and plunged her sword into the knight.  
As if it had been whispered into her ear, Alara’s murky eyes were drawn to a Calvary rider who was making his way across the battlefield with grim determination. Tracing his movements, her gaze snagged on where a lone man fought. It was he who the rider aimed for.

Robb Stark, the man for whose banner they'd all bent the knee. Down in the trenches with them.   
It didn't surprise her. 

The King in the North. The Young Wolf. The one they said rode into battle on the back of a giant dire wolf.  
The one they said couldn’t be killed.

Outrunning a horse was not one of her skills but she was closer to the rider’s mark. Resolutely, she hewed her way through the throng that had formed around her and pulled out a hunting knife from the pouch at her waist.

Robb was weary, Alara could tell. His arms shook from the effort of keeping them upright against the onslaught of the men before him. He swung with exceptional skill, his helm lost somewhere amidst the battle. (Alara wondered briefly how he managed to wield the sword, as an arrow was stuck out of the top of his right arm like a porcupine quill).  
He moved liquidly and with enviable grace for one with a size so imposing, nothing but ferocity painted on his handsome visage.

Robb switched to his left arm to ease the burning in his right and in a flash, sheared off an enormous part of the arrow that stuck out of his flesh. He winced as he parried another blow, the impact sending painful tremors through his body.

Suddenly, another soldier leaped in front of him. His eyes widened at the recognition and his chest deflated in relief. The white and grey of House Stark.

‘Duck!’ The soldier shrieked in a treble voice and Robb did, absentmindedly wondering who on earth had recruited a mere boy into his ranks. A lance flew past his cheek, pinning a soldier behind him into the ground like meat on a skewer.  
The rider who had thrown it with little aim powered across the field. He then extracted a sword from its sheath.  
Swinging his arm back, the soldier who had saved him crouched and hurled a blade in the rider's direction. It glinted for a moment in the last fires of twilight.

‘Too low!’ Robb shouted.

The blade winged through the frigid air and dug into the skull of the horse with a force that alluded to the strength of the soldier. It completely staggered its movements. The destrier screamed in agony and toppled over, throwing off its rider who rolled and sprang to his feet despite his heavy armor.

‘I wasn’t aiming for the rider.’ Alara huffed and faced the knight once again, onyx eyes and full lips leaving a brand upon Robb’s skin.  
Who was this?!

‘No!’ Robb roared, not giving in to these queries in the heat of battle. ‘Leave him to me!’  
Robb knew who stood there before him and he felt an immediate pang of disgust that curled his mouth into a snarl. "You go and help the others!"  
Alara retreated, keeping one eye on her King. 

‘Pathetic Rivers, but not surprising given your heritage. Treachery and cowardice is your family’s motto,’ Robb restrained the urge to pant and flung the words at the mountain of a soldier with a carelessness he did not feel.  
The man nodded, letting loose the forces behind him, leaving him free to face his enemy.

Robb was not raised to taunt his adversary with words, preferring to meet them with steel as his father had taught him (and yet his sister had stressed time and time again the importance of breaking a man’s spirit with your tongue before killing his body with your sword).

Black Walder Rivers hefted his over his shoulder and sneered ‘We don’t all have your privilege, Stark. Some of us must work to get what we want, not have it handed to us through our mother’s teat.’

It stung, but Robb had heard this, and much worse, many times before.

He was the bastard Robb was glad his brother Jon Snow had never become. Although Walder despised his birth circumstances the same as any other born of adultery, he was willing to take any underhanded means to achieve trueborn status.

‘Think old man Frey will make you one of his heirs if you bring him my head, do you?’  
Robb grinned and in the meantime rallied his strength. His heart twisted in grief, it was not the first time the Freys and the Lannisters had taken up arms against him. Would this ever stop?

Walder’s face contorted and with a maddened roar, he lunged at Robb. Although wounded and exhausted, Robb fought with impressive skill, whirling and slashing at his rival where he found the chance. He lifted heavy arms to parry Walder’s rage-fueled blows and as pain lanced through him, he knew better. Without assistance, he would not last through this fight.

Alara observed between strikes. Robb Stark was waning. His thrusts grew weaker and his dodges were slower.  
Pulling her sword from yet another body, she swivelled just in time to see the knight kick Robb’s legs out from under him and lift the tip of his blade above his head. Deciding to ignore the King’s orders, she leaped at Ser Walder with a blood-curdling scream and taking advantage of his surprise, drove her steel straight through the point where shoulder met clavicle.  
  
Shattered from the wound he doubled back. 

The battle waned as the Lannister and Frey army saw their numbers dwindle to nearly nothing. Robb turned to the soldier and offered a strained smile.  
There was something about the petite boy he liked, he could not place his finger on why, though.

‘You have my thanks, soldier,’ Robb patted Alara’s shoulder and she nodded in kind, taking care to keep her words to a minimum now that the sound of battle had dissipated.  
There was a moment of awkward silence between them. Robb captivated by his depthless gaze, which was interrupted a moment later by a healer.

‘Your Grace!’ The young wolf sighed and allowed himself to be dragged away for tending, though his eyes darted back to her twice before disappearing from sight.

Alara felt the sear of his attentions and it lit something in her belly. It couldn’t be… was he...?  
She let out a deep exhale and glanced down at herself with a grimace. She was filthy.  
Spotting a river on the way to battle, she knew where she could get a wash without being discovered.

###

On her way back from her quick though satisfying ablution, Alara was stopped by Robb Stark’s man-in-arms. He was all brawn and distrust… with puckered skin and a permanent scowl. He looked him up and down as if he were a riddle he could not crack and when he found him wanting, he notched his jaw higher.

‘Oy, you Gregory Farrow?’ he asked, his mouth turned down in what seemed permanent disapproval.

‘I am M’lord’ She was using her brother’s name. He wouldn’t mind, seeing as he was only a boy of three and ten and far away under Aunt Lucinda’s care.

‘His Grace requests your presence in his pavilion,’ the brutish man said and without turning around to see if he would follow, he strode away, slightly limping.  
  
###

The camp was alive with men content to have beaten death for one more sunset. The ones who had failed were stripped and buried because the king would not let his bannermen be left outside to rot.  
Robb Stark was a righteous king, she thought. A just and kind man.

She walked through the camp behind the knight, inhaling the scent of spices and the delicious aroma of cooked meat. Her belly growled, as she hadn’t eaten in what seemed a fortnight. _I hope I get a meal at least after this._

Nodding his head in permission for him to go in, he announced his presence and left him standing at the entrance. Not about to look a fool, Alara ducked past the heavy velvet curtains and came face to face with a gigantic wolf.  
A dire wolf.  
She froze at the sight of the colossal beast which sniffed and studied her with gleaming yellow eyes. Its fur reminded her of the sky on winter days when clouds had long covered the sun.  
Despite feeling a prick of fear, her fingers twitched. Alara was suddenly overcome with the need to sink her hands into its soft thick fur.

‘He doesn’t bite,’ A deep voice rumbled at him. ‘Well… unless I tell him to.’  
Directly in front of her, when she turned on her heel toward the gravelly voice, she found her King.

Now cleaned of blood and filth, he was a sight to behold. From the few Tullys she had encountered, it was obvious Robb Stark favored his mother’s side. The thatch of russet curls that fell to his forehead looked as soft as maize silk. Large sapphire eyes sparkled like shattered marble.  
Robb Stark was breathtaking and she was not unaffected. Something flickered in the back of his eyes and she noticed it, causing her breath to catch on her words. They were trapped behind her teeth before she spat them out.  
“Your… Your Grace.”  
  
Robb’s ribs rose and fell as he took deep breaths. Something about this youthful man was lighting a sentiment within him, part wonder and part attraction.  
Curiosity to find out which weighed more in the equation illuminated the blue in his now mellow eyes.  
  
Robb was fond of both sexes, ‘twas true, so finding that he favored this soldier physically was hardly a shocking revelation.  
He was captivated. Couldn’t place what unusual secret this boy held, but he was intent in finding out… if the young lad agreed to humor him.   
It was a marvel, Robb thought as he studied him in silence, how could he have fought so well and yet be so tiny in frame. Such fine features on him, though tall he was of minute build.  
Summoning him near with the arm that was now bandaged, Robb’s features softened the further he advanced. 

Alara sank to one knee ‘Your Grace, thank you for calling upon me.’ She wondered if her voice was deep enough, could he see through her disguise with those piercing eyes of his? If she were discovered, would he have her executed if he found out she was physically a woman?!  
Alara’s mind flurried with a myriad of thoughts.

‘Rise, soldier,’ Robb commanded, leaning forward into the light. He squinted… saw no hint of facial hair, not a shade of whiskers. ‘So you are the soldier to whom I owe a life debt.’

‘You honor me, Your Grace. I was only doing my duty.’

He was the epitome of calm. Almost guileless, an unfamiliar man from the young wolf that terrorized his enemies on the battlefield.  
 _The man fought with an arrow in him.  
_ Her mind purred at her, praying away the heat coiling in her sex. The longer she perused his perfectly toned body the harder it was to swat away her desires.  
Giving in to filthy thoughts about her king would not do.

‘Come, soldier. Sit with me. And please take off that armor, it’s warm in here.’

It _was_ warm in the tent, for more than reasons of fire-induced temperature. A tendril of panic seized her.  
This was it. As soon as she took off her armor… and yet defying a direct order from the King was certain death all the same.  
Alara had no choice.

‘As you wish, Your Grace.’

The metal glinted in the low lights as the pieces came undone. With each limb uncovered, the plates dropping with soft clangs, Robb’s eyes widened and his brow travelled to his hairline.  
What the devil… ?!  
  
Alara stood before him in her gray tunic and trousers, painfully aware of how the material molded to her now obvious womanly curves. She watched as the realization washed over his beautiful face, slow and sure.  
Robb sat silent for several moments, hands steepled before his lips, his cock hardening in his breeches.  
She was a woman by all terms. In his army. Had been fighting under his banner for several weeks (and doing so better than most of the men sat outside his tent).

Robb’s mind hummed with a series of thoughts and decisions. A woman in his army, a beautiful, fierce one at that. With sheared sooty hair that fell around her ears and those plump pillow lips that had been haunting him since the battlefield…  
She squared her shoulders, her coal eyes transfixed on him with defiance and a healthy amount of pride. Beneath that exterior, however, was fear. Not for battle, she’d proven that very well. She feared he would kill her for her deceit.

‘The world must be changing,’ he finally spoke, leaning back into his chair with the ghost of a smile on his plum lips. He let his legs fall open in gentle invitation- he’d noticed how her attention had flitted to him and then down to her boots. Back and forth in what must have been some kind of internal war of hers for control.  
  
He was not faring any better. Robb was hardly considered a King with lustful penchants… but it had been so long. And there was something special about her? him?  
Why had she chosen to disguise herself as a man when there were women warriors, albeit few?  
  
Unique.  
He found her irresistible.  
  
‘Never in all my years have I seen a man with a figure such as yours,’ he declared. _And so many freckles, are they everywhere I wonder?_

She resisted the urge to tremble. Licking her lips, she hung her shaggy head. ‘I was born a girl, Your Grace. But raised like a lad would be. Taught blacksmithing, swordfighting. The art of street fighting.’

‘Really?” he breathed. “I was under the impression you were disguised to be a man, a very convincing man at that, by the gods alone,’ he stared pointedly. "Especially on the battlefield, you can hold my army to being far inferior."  
  
 _Is he teasing me?_ Alara was bewildered! ‘Life is not as smooth-sailing as we want it to be, sire. Things are not always black or white. My father needed a son, and I fell into the role quite well. It is a part of who I am, sire.' 

He rose to his feet, crossing the space with long strides to a gigantic table. Filling two goblets with wine, Robb handed her one and at his nod of encouragement, she took a sip of the rich red liquid. It was warm and divinely lush against her thirsty lips.  
The way the tip of her tongue darted out to lick the rim… Robb’s trousers immediately felt tighter.

‘Once again, take a seat… _Gregory_ ,’ He paused, wineskin in hand. The tone was a query. ‘Or is it something else? I suppose you must tell me your proper name now. _Or your chosen one_."  
  
He'd heard of people who need not have identified by what their sex organs had assigned them. To some level he understood. He himself wouldn't adhere to attraction just because a person possessed one physical characteristic or another. He loved beauty regardless of what underclothes hid. 

‘Rayce Farrow, Your Grace. By birth. Alara Farrow by choice... though I really don't know at times where my heart lies. There are days I feel more like a lad, especially of late, being amongst the lads in battle. And then others...’ She poured herself into the seat as she replied, her legs weary from combat.

‘Alara…’ He spoke the name like he was tasting it, slow and deep and warm like fresh honey. It did things to her, his voice. Lit fire in her veins… or was it the wine?  
It wasn't just the wine.   
‘I’m afraid I do not know your house.’

‘My father was no nobleman; he was but a simple blacksmith, content to live out his days in his forge.’

Robb swirled the vintage in his cup. He could not tear his eyes away from her.  
‘A blacksmith, that explains the majesty of your sword, and why he taught you such a trade.’ He tilted his head at her weapon. It was a fine blade, castle-forged steel, and a silver hilt on which letters had been carved. Her family name _. RF._

‘My father taught me everything he would have to a son, Your Grace. He did not have one until my brother Gregory was born. I was 14 by then and he'd had almost lost hope. I was given that sword when I turned 18.’  
  
‘Extraordinary.’  
Robb’s attention went from the weapon and slid over her body- not in a leery way. Not like all the other men had looked at her. Had someone asked she would have replied… appreciative. It didn’t make her squirm or shrink away or want to take a swing.  
  
She felt the heat of it, though. Strongly. It was like he was kissing her with his eyes, the message was plain and it made her cheeks go scarlet.  
‘Is this how you want to be called then? Do you wish me to refer to you as Alara?"  
"Most days," she breathed. "But on the ones I don't it's also acceptable that you do. I don't think an appellation takes away from who we feel we are, do you?"  
The shadows that played upon her face spoke to inner darkness and confusion. Perhaps things were not at all like they seemed, but then again Robb was a mystery to himself as well.   
He didn't press the issue for now. After all, hadn't being called a Stark condemned his family? Did it have to be a curse?  
  
'Ser Mallory tells me you speak High Valyrian and Braavosi. The soldiers heard you speaking to a Braavos captive.’

Alara shook her head, not wanting to seem arrogant. But then he knew everything he needed to already, didn’t he?  
‘I met an Essosi Priestess once, she stayed at our home for a while before moving on. While she was with us, I begged her to teach me her language. My father taught me Braavosi. He had a friend on the other side of the narrow sea. Jhorgen he called him. He was a cloth merchant. Languages have just always come rather easy to me.’ _  
_  
"Is there anything else that you do well, Alara Farrow? You seem to be a person of many talents.’ 

Robb cocked a brow. By the gods, the more she spoke, the more he was drawn to her.

A bright flare of desire sprang into her at the insinuation. She was acutely conscious of his physique and natural beauty… his allure was inebriating. But he was also charming with kind eyes and a selfless soul.  
And heavens help her that voice…  
‘Well, if it pleases Your Grace to know, I am also a healer. An excellent one, too, if I am to believe the soldier whose arm I sawed off.’

‘He praised you after you took his arm?’ Robb chuckled and swilled the wine. She touched the hollow of her throat and he swallowed hard.

‘He said it was the best thing anyone could have done for him. He preferred to live with one arm than perish and have none at all.’ She smiled meekly, revealing a softer side to the strong persona that normally pervaded her being.  
It was difficult to concentrate as she felt all kinds of tingles and throbs through her.

‘Why did you do it? Why are you here?’ he asked abruptly. Why WAS this skilled warrior trying to throw away her life on the battlefield?! She was not sworn to any of his houses, his war was not her own?!

She stared at him for a few moments, her gaze shaded with secrets and… tremendous sadness. Robb wondered if perchance his visage looked the same.  
When he thought she would say nothing more, twisting the fabric of her tunic between the fingers of her left hand, she found her words.

‘I was nineteen when Tywin Lannister commissioned swords from my father. He might not have been the best blacksmith the length of Westeros, but he was one of the good ones. Usually, my father wouldn’t do business with a Lannister, but we needed the coin so…’

Robb placed the goblet on the table and clenched his sword hand. Stories involving the Lannisters never ended well and the anguish creasing her brow confirmed it for him. She sat immobile as she relived her tale, her hands were wrapped around the goblet with white knuckles, as if it were a sword.

‘They say the Lannisters always pay their debts, Your Grace. But they lie.’ Her eyes had glossed over as she ventured back into the past through memory and tale.  
Studying the wine, he understood she did not see it. Alara was envisioning Lord Tywin’s messenger in the beverage's reflection, a spare cruel-faced man with hard eyes.  
She knew what would happen when his eyes passed over the swords… it was the way kings appraised gifts… or slaves.

‘He told my father they would not be paying for any of it, said he owed Tywin an old debt and they had come to collect. My father was an honorable man, Your Grace, and if he owed something, he paid it. If he could not, he did so with his work. There is always a need for weapons, after all.’

‘So he refused.’ Robb said grimly.

‘He refused and when things got too heated, in the way things do when one party is innocent, he drew his sword. I watched it all, at that age I was inseparable from my father and obsessed with the anvil.’ 

Alara still heard the _shing_ of her father’s sword leaving its sheath and watched as one of the Lannister’s soldiers, fast as a snake, drove his square into her father’s chest. They held her back by the arms as she screamed and screamed while her father died, bleeding out on the floor.  
  
Then, realizing she wasn't a boy... they each had had their way with her. (When she spoke of this Robb’s eyes blazed in sudden anger). The messenger told her after, as he spit on her father’s corpse, that honorable men died quicker in these parts than those who knew to keep their head down and their mouths shut. And that if she were to get with child from this romp they'd had with her, she should thank them and feel proud to carry a Lannister sympathizer's baby in her belly.   
  
"A moon later the blood came, sire. At least the gods had spared me that further shame," Alara sniffled and Robb's teeth clenched so tightly his jaw locked. THOSE PIGS! THOSE ANIMALS!  
She explained further that from that day she cursed them all and withe her hands soaked in her father’s blood – and her innocence taken, she vowed revenge.   
When Robb Stark called for men-at-arms, Alara sheared off her hair and armed her father’s blade.

Robb listened, fists clenched, his own eyes wet in pain for her… for her innocence so brutally taken, for her loss… for all it meant as he'd mourned also his own father. Raw hurt glittered in her heart-shaped face and he wanted to take it away… kiss her until she forgot all the sorrow and torture she’d been through.  
Instead he sighed, resisting the urge to reach for her. ‘Tywin Lannister has always been and will forever be a worthless snake. His soldiers are the exact reflection of that. I am so sorry, Alara.’

Alara watched him from under heavy lashes, the wine goblet forgotten in her hands. He looked so wrought for her… and then he sloped towards her, his fingers playing on his knees.  
  
‘The Lannister’s might not pay their debts, but I joined this army to pay mine. One way or another I will have my revenge, sire.’  
He felt a kinship with her, an understanding of the anguish and passion that drove her to war. The Lannisters had made dreadful holes in the fabrics of both their families and their absences gnawed in his chest… both of them possessed that glint that only utter hurt and longing could have dragged to the surface.

‘I did not witness my father’s death, but I have heard about it more times than I can count.’ Robb sounded tired, his voice hollowed out. ‘The soldiers are terrible gossips, Lannister men taunt me with it in battle and the minstrels sing of how Ilyn Payne took Eddard Stark’s head at the behest of King Joffrey. They say my father was treasonous but I knew no more honorable man. Even if it cost him everything, my father would always stay on the right path. It’s what he taught us.’

‘The world is a cruel place Your Grace, I have long-since learned to listen to everything, but let nothing touch me.’

The crackle of the fire and the wolf’s snoring competed with their increasing breaths. The sexual tension was palpable now, their scents meshing in the air, making nostrils twitch.   
‘Perhaps you shall teach me your ways Alara,’ he whispered, tilting his head. Stray curls fell into his eyes and she wanted desperately to brush them away. _  
__''_ May I ask, why as a man?’ He was curious. Though there were no women in his army, he had heard of Brienne of Tarth and Asha of the Ironlands. There were a smattering of others about. 

‘A single woman amidst thousands of battle-fueled, lustful men?’ Alara laughed, her teeth were a flash of white in the yellow tinted room ‘I am not so powerful Your Grace, to withstand their nightly advances.’

He understood, especially after what she'd been through. He would not claim to be ignorant of what men… what most soldiers… were up to when at war. It was disgraceful, and he had stern rules in place about such behaviours. There were brothels for those urges- if any of his men were caught raping it meant immediate execution.   
  
Robb felt wrung from the inside out. She looked so miserable. He wished… suddenly none of his thoughts lined up and before he was aware of what he was doing, he took her hands in his, the way he had done many times with his sisters. Protective. Gentle. Kissing her fingertips.   
  
The way she whimpered made him remember that Alara was not his sister, though, and he did not think of her in such… platonic terms, either.  
  
She stiffened only a moment before realizing it was _him._ That she needn’t worry. He wouldn’t hurt her, not like other men had.   
In fact, his touch was tender. Considerate. It was not a thing she was used to with men. At the same time, she did not see “the damsel-in-distress” gaze her interlocutors often wore after a lass told them her sad tale.  
Robb was looking at her in utter adoration.  
  
His hands were warm and callused, much like hers. Aunt Lucinda had told her men who went to war wanted to come back to soft women with soft hands and soft mouths and she had responded that she didn’t care for such men, anyway. They could have so those women, there were plenty to go around.   
_I wonder if Robb Stark cares for my hands._

‘What will you do with me?’ she added as an afterthought. It was a statement giving life to her worst worry.  
He grinned. Robb liked that she was seeing him as a person and not just the king.

‘What do you mean? Here, or out there?’ Robb queried, bending his head. His face was so close she could see the lashes on his eyes fluttering.  
Alara held in a breath. ‘Will you have me ousted or killed… _out there?_ ’

It would be his right. All this deceit was forbidden. But how could he squash such a beautiful flower when it had grown from ash? And such a rare one at that.   
‘I should. But I don’t care to,’ he murmured.

Alara squirmed with hurt. She wanted to fight, she needed to! ‘I understand Your Grace. I’ll be leaving tomorrow, then.’ She was supposed to make an exit even now, but she found herself unable to move, locked into place with Robb’s shiny marble stare cutting into her.

‘Stay, Alara. Please. Not just out there, I mean. Please stay… _tonight._ ’  
  
He asked. He was King and he could throw her down to the ground right now and have his way with her... but he was asking for permission… beseeching her to remain! She was shocked... and aroused. She wanted to stay. Desperately.   
‘If you wish me to, Your Grace, I’d be honored,' it came out very pitchy, the nerves getting the best of her. 

“Robb. In here, call me Robb.” He motioned to kiss her then, hesitating only a moment for consent. When she didn’t flinch or pull away, he pressed his lips to hers. It was long and sweet.   
His brushes were not what she expected, the tenderness of his testing and then penetrating her mouth with his tongue a velvety graze. 

Alara felt as though she had drunk a sleeping draught, the feel of Robb’s lips against hers something other wordly. She had kissed no one so gently before and it thawed her like the sun on fresh snow.  
He leaned back and cupped her face.

‘You don’t have to, love,’ he murmured.

‘Have to what?’ Alara asked dazedly. He’d called her love…

‘Kiss me. Stay here with me. Stay the night here with me if… What I’m saying is you can go out there and continue being a soldier in my army, I won’t stop you. I won’t tell anyone. This isn’t some paym---‘

Now it was she who kissed him. "I thought, when you saw me... that you might have preferred the lads," her breath raspy when they broke.   
The answer was in the urgent press of their bodies.  
"I am drawn to people, Alara. I don't think about what might or might not be hidden in their trousers or under their gowns. My first experiences with a man were with my best friend Theon. I like to think we're free to express love how we see fit. Don't you?"  
Where had this man come from? she asked herself. The more he revealed of himself the more she fervently believed the Starks were fabulous people. Catelyn Tully had raised her children right.   
"Aye, I do as well." 

The meeting of their mouths sent shivers through them both, and thinking she felt nervous, he tightened his arms around her and whispered loving assurances. Robb pecked her temple, her eyelids, the hollow in her neck he’d been studying all evening. She gasped, her sex dewing the more he explored her body.  
Grasping at his tunic with curled fingers, he sensed correctly that she desired him equally.  
Knowing what she’d been through, though, Robb didn’t want to rush. Even though everything in him was scorching want, he contented himself with claiming her sweet pout again.  
She could kiss him forever, she thought. Which made her recall something amusing.  
Of all the times!

Once, when she and Gregory had visited with her aunt, she had skulked about in the kitchens, overhearing the women speak of how intoxicating spirits were and how they traveled “down there” and did things to men and women alike.  
Alara had snuck down later, the curious child she’d always been, and had drunk two full cups of mulled spirits so strong she saw stars, (much to her aunt’s dismay and her father’s humor).  
They locked her in her chambers to ‘regain her wits’ and she mourned the disappointment of the discovering truth behind the rumor.  
(She had planned on meeting James, the stable boy, that same night. Her father had guessed as much since it’d been days she was found milling around the horses. Though he himself wasn’t against exploring carnal desire, Alara at the time was 15. The 22-year-old farmhand with a reputation for falling into the hay with just about anyone was hardly the right candidate for his daughter’s innocence. She may have looked as old as him and had a boyish appearance despite her growing breasts, but she was still only a child then, 6 months into her womanly cycles). Her father was trying to protect her from harm. Little did he know what would occur a few years later. 

So yes… Robb’s lips felt like potent wine, they left her lightheaded and stirred. His hands moved no further than her hair and shoulders. She understood he was being respectful, perhaps unsure of her boundaries. But the clenching of her loins was becoming unbearable, and judging from the prominent and visible shape on the front of his breeches, he was suffering from the same ill, too.

Alara placed a hand on his chest and gently pushed him back. Unhurried and soft as their kissing, her hands tugged down her trousers, revealing an absence of smallclothes.  
Robb sighed, taking in the sight of where her short dark curls had grown into a V. The sweet essence of her muskiness tickled his senses… it made his sex stir and bead secretion.  
  
 _So this is how I die._ He thought. _Not in battle but in front of the striking beauty of this incredible being._ The tunic dropped to the floor next, pooling at her feet, exposing her bound chest and bruised skin.  
Alara straightened, not ashamed of her nakedness. She smirked when she saw Robb pale slightly.

 _Gods._ Robb swallowed _. The freckles_ were _everywhere._

‘The way you look at me, Your Grace.’ She breathed heavily, she was no blushing virgin but her body dusked over like a peach with pleasure.

‘How can I not? Do you wear this every day?’ Robb asked hoarsely. He was looking at her bindings with heat in his eyes.  
Neither of them heard Grey Wind whine in lament and quit the tent.

‘Yes, they get in the way sometimes.’ She smiled and rested her fingertips on the edge of the cloth, about to pull. "Some days I hate them, some days I think I wouldn't be who I am without.'  
He held out a hand pleadingly.

‘May I Alara? Do you mind? _Please_.’ The "please" cracked on his voice, and she willingly surrendered to him.

Robb ran the pads of his digits along the edge of the fabric where they met her skin and she shuddered with desire, her skin prickling over.  
His hands edged up to cup her sides and as if he were unwrapping a precious gift, he loosened the strips one after the other. They fell away slowly, like wisps of dangling white blooms, the motions deepening the ache within her.  
His eyes were like fire upon her apricot skin, burning, and burning, ravishing her from afar.

Alara sighed in sweet relief as her heavy breasts sprang free and groaned when Robb, unable to help himself any longer, lowered his head and sucked one nipple into his mouth. He inflicted pleasure on her mercilessly, taking his time with each one until they were glistening hard peaks.

“Oh heavens,” she mewled.  
Robb thought she was exquisite. He lowered her onto the bedding, kissing her as they fell back. He licked the red lines where the cloth had bit into her body, he kissed her taut stomach and further down to her supple quivering thighs.

Then he inched her legs apart, coaxing them open with delicious kisses. "Do you object... to... ?"   
She wagged her head, raking a hand into his tendrils in encouragement. "No. Please... do it. It's been so long."   
  
He lapped _there_ and Alara was lost. Robb spread her petals, tasting her… drinking from her. He didn’t forget to circle her stiff nub, and as soon as he did she squirmed against him.  
Robb lifted his tortuous lips and grinned wickedly from between her legs.  
 _Why in Westeros did he stop?!_  
‘Robb? ‘ she panted, a desperate strain to her voice. “Er…Your Gr---‘

‘Robb, love. Robb.’ He licked her off his lips and her body tightened. The release was but a distant dream.

‘Why?’ she moaned frustratedly, clenching the bedding below.

‘Easy, love,’ he kissed her soothingly. She tasted herself on his lips. "I don't like to rush."

‘Is this how the Lord of Winterfell pleasures? Leave all the poor admirers wanting?’ She gasped as he flicked a tongue against her earlobe.  
Maybe if she teased him, he could do that thing he was doing again. 

Robb inhaled and pressed his lips to her forehead. ‘My mother used to tell me that a man who fumbled through the pleasuring of a woman could not make long-lasting decisions. _I take my time_.’

She giggled and nearly perished at the high girlish sound that escaped her lips. ‘Is this your intention, sire? To test your endurance?’ her eyes were bright with mischief.

‘Absolutely.’ He challenged. ‘I want you to beg me for it, Alara.’

It was torture. She lowered her head to his lips, to his broad muscled chest. She flicked her tongue over his nipple and grew even damper at his groans.

“Your turn, Your Grace.”  
‘You shall be the death of me, Alara Farrow.’

Alara found it was easier to undress him from this position. Her hand stole between them and closed around his shaft like a well-fitted glove.  
His sex was magnificent… thick and so stiff she could feel the pulsations against her palm.  
  
Robb let an expletive slip, letting out a harsh breath. The entirety of his consciousness was focused on the single point on his body where her fingers gripped him firmly.  
He wanted them to move, to drive him to madness. He wanted it all, whatever she would gift him.

The singeing heat of her mouth made all of him fit. Few had been able to take his size, especially in girth as he surpassed many men, even Jon. (Now that competition was a tale for another time, he mused).   
He willed it away, the dirty thought, but the vision of him spilling his seed on her little pink tongue, over her chin and onto her large breasts… it kept plaguing him.

She stroked him gently, moaning over his cock, making him whimper. He gripped the quilt beneath his sweat-covered skin, his breath hiccuping in quick bursts as Alara wreaked havoc on his senses.  
Suddenly, she stopped. Pulled off with a squishy sound that trailed a necklace of saliva and his secretions down onto her chest.  
“For all that’s holy,” he panted, visibly quivering in place.

‘Shall I continue?’ her smoky voice floated up at him. He could hear the teasing in it. He never wanted her to stop. Would never ask that of her if she wanted to do this for him for all eternity.

‘You’re naughty, aren’t you?’ He ground out.

‘Treat me kindly, and you’ll find out.’ It sounded like a promise.   
  
She continued, her mouth possessing its way down the length of him and back again.   
He was wrecked. Listening to his body hum like beaten metal, (a sound forever etched into her memory), when she believed he would tip over, she dragged him back until he was a perspiring, pleading mess.

‘That’s it darling, there, right there....’ he purred. A moment later the first wave of salty release filled her mouth, collecting in the groove of her muscle.

“Alara… Alara!” he shouted as he came a second time…

She was coated, his brine dripping from her lips and back onto his cock. Some of the creamy seed disappeared as she gulped it down... and seeing his vision become a reality sent him into a ravenous fury.  
She lifted her ebony head, sucking one finger into her mouth to clean off what was left.  
That was it. Robb was on her the next second like a man starved for months. He did not seek gentleness this time and in one smooth stroke, he thrust himself against her.  
"Where?" he fumbled between her folds. He wanted her to say.   
She led him to her moistness. "Here."  
Alara scraped her fingers down his chest at the impact, the depth of him against her inner walls. It was sending shivers up her spine. “Robb!”

The feeling of oneness, it was overpowering. She felt as if she had been with Robb for years and the thought made her reflect…if only she _had_ met him back then.  
He rocked against her gently, azure pools of need fixed upon hers, intensifying the impact of his lunges. Her body shook with slight tremors and soft wanting sighs.

‘Is this okay, love?’ he asked after her, worried he was being too rough.   
‘Yes, I’m… I’m almost… She whimpered and wriggled to get closer. She couldn’t, though, as they were as meshed as much as their bodies in this space would allow.

‘That’s right.’ he then murmured huskily, guiding her movements to match his. ‘Come for me, darling. Please. Do it all over my cock. I want to feel it.’

His talk was driving her insane. She pulled when he pushed and faster and faster they went, until Alara was crying out her release and he was grunting his, the sky bursting into a million shards of light behind their eyes. ‘Robb!’ she clenched onto him with all her strength.   
‘Darling I’m coming again…’ he exclaimed through clenched teeth. Alara lamented hers not lasting longer, as this time it was more intense than drawn out, but at least they had peaked together. Radiant and beautiful in the afterglow, she pressed her mouth to his when they began their descent.

‘Will you stay tonight, here with me, love?” Robb begged, a hand on his forehead as he sought her hand with the other.  
Their fingers entwined.  
Her fingers hovered above his spent sex, still slick with their combined secretions. “Only if the other King promises to pleasure me like that again?’ she grinned.  
She felt his belly tense, his member twitching at the proposition.  
  
‘Give me a few minutes and I think that can be quickly arranged,” Robb covered Alara’s body with his like a fur blanket.

###

‘Alara darling, wake up.’

Alara woke to heat and Robb nudging the tip of his cock against her. She stretched like a feline, letting her arms slink around his back and two hands gently cupping his perfect buttocks.  
“For the fifth time… I’m impressed, Your Grace.”  
She urged him on, but today she'd woken feeling different. A dream she'd just had brought back a memory. One time she'd spent an evening in the company of a kind inn keeper's son. After a jug of ale and some laughs, they both hadn't minded the idea of some more intimate company. He'd led her to his modest quarters at the back of the inn, and after a surprisingly pleasant and gentle time kissing one another, he revealed he'd been looking for the company of a lad, but that after caressing each other it was clear Gregory wasn't all he made himself out to be. Liam his name was, she recalled, he wasn't upset at tall to discover she had been born differently- he was actually quite intrigued. Alara liked him, and she was craving kind company. She admitted freely to him that she was curious about this way of copulating that she'd never tried before.   
So she'd spent the night. Liam was gentle, and kind... took things slow. She never removed her bindings nor her shirt and he'd taken her from behind as she requested. He needn't have been aware of what else her body held for him because the experience was more than satisfactory for both. They ended up doing it once more in the morning, this time with more unabashed enjoyment.   
  
Alara wanted that again. Missed the sensation it had given her- her other opening had felt so empty and deliciously needy as Lian had filled her anally. It was a blissful torture.   
  
"I desire," she curled against him, leading his fingertips lower than usual. "I want it here. I want it... rougher."   
  
His arm bound around her ribs, fondling her perfect freckled breasts. "Are you sure?" he asked, having done this only with Theon and a couple other companions- but instantly even more aroused at the prospect.   
"Yes... just be gentle at first. I haven't done this in a long time."   
Her arched bum was more than he needed as an invitation.   
  
Starting slowly, burying his head into the hollow in her neck, he allowed the fire to build. They’d done it so many times in the past night this "variation" was a treat, and certainly didn't warrant haste.  
He felt dreamily warm and his stiffness was wonderfully swallowed within her as she mewled beneath him. 

It was the early hours of dawn, even before the animals awoke, when the sky was nothing but a dim promise and the world was hushed.  
This moment was for them, quiet and intense and full of feeling. She had expected that she would open her eyes to cold emptiness and a letter of dismissal but the gods must have smiled down on her and granted her this boon.

‘Robb.’ His name was natural on her lips. She had screamed it in the dead of night while the camp was asleep and the King had kept her awake again and again until they’d passed out from utter exhaustion.

Alara rolled him fully under him, taking care to avoid his injured arm.   
He lowered his sex inside her once more, inch by delicious inch until she had sheathed him fully.  
Robb looked glorious in the morning with heavy-lidded eyes full of sleep and want. She leaned back and one hand buried in his silky red-brown tendrils, their kiss lazy and sultry. Obscene almost as they licked their tongues.  
She did not want to leave. She would never get enough of this.

‘Like that, love, such a good girl.’ She slid up and down the length of him with heavy movements when he stilled, until with a growl, Robb emptied inside of her, leaving small half moons on the curves of her thighs.  
Using his spend he slicked over her clit, fusing their mouths and rubbing there... his hand over hers, together, until her climax overwhelmed her, leaving her a blubbering mess.

‘Stay.’ he murmured stiltedly, kissing her damp forehead. He was fully awake now, having slaked his thirst with the taste of their combined release.

‘I can keep fighting?’ She smiled like a blooming flower, the euphoria was dancing through her veins.

‘If you wish, you can. But I doubt you’ll find the time for it’ he gripped her haunches gently, enjoying the look of confusion on her face.  
 _I have found a gem._ He thought he was never letting her go.

 _‘_ I don’t understand.’ she furrowed her black brows.

‘I couldn’t bear for you to be killed out there in battle. But I won’t stop you if you want to continue. You’re a formidable fighter, better than most of my army. Still.. ‘

His finger traced down, circling over her belly, down to the dampness of her lower lips. She gasped at the graze.  
“You can get your revenge in other ways. Stay. Be my advisor, Alara Farrow.”  
 _Be so much more than that. I need a strong presence by my side.  
_  
There was so much he still wanted to explain, but it was too soon. He didn’t want to frighten her with all the things buzzing in his mind while she had slept soundly.  
“Are you serious about this?” she sat up, a hand splayed on his chest. His heartbeat picked up immediately.  
“Yes. You speak many languages and can heal as well as any maester. Perhaps better. I have openings for both positions.’  
 _Perhaps, one day, we can be promised to one another, if you’ll have me. Perhaps, one day, but only if you wish it, you’d do me the honor of putting a baby in your belly… I would love our children to have your strength and determination, Alara.  
_  
Robb wanted her to stay and the idea took her by surprise. A very pleasant surprise. Not only that, Robb Stark was concerned about her well-being, enough to pull her out of battle and place her by his side... not as some trophy queen or worse yet, a travelling harlot. But as his trusted advisor.   
  
She’d gathered he was different and she hadn't been wrong.  
“Well?” he leaned in, his mouth a pink seam of worry. “What do you say, Alara?”  
  
She was more than capable of being his advisor. More than willing to be by his side, through this battle and all the rest to come. 

‘How fortunate,” she grinned from ear to ear. ‘I happen to be looking for a change in employment.’  
‘Then it’s settled,’ he replied as he kissed her cupid-bow lips. "Maester Farrow, welcome to House Stark."   
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Hopefully it was an enjoyable read. I also suffer from gender dysphoria so I know all too well how delicate the theme is, and how confusing it can be for the person going through these feelings on a daily basis.  
> I hope I didn't offend anyone with anything. This is just one OC's take on their gender and sexuality. 
> 
> Please feel free to reach out, I love to hear from readers. I haven't written much for this fandom but I have about 140 or so stories on here so please, if you liked the style, feel free to check out my dash.  
> Of course I adapt to each fandom so when I write Teen Wolf or Penny Dreadful, for example, it doesn't sound this posh :) but my visual way of writing I suppose is omnipresent.  
> If you ship Theon and Robb I have a fic up for them, and one is on the way this weekend of a Rob/Theon/Jon love triangle.  
> Depending on interest this might get another chapter. :)  
> Thank you for reading I appreciate each and every hit (and I love comments and kudos so there's my shameless plug).  
> Namaste!


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